


feels like flying

by daisysusan



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisysusan/pseuds/daisysusan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's not even much of a kiss, just a messy press of mouths that barely lingers past platonic. If Nate were the sort of boy who kissed his friends platonically.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He doesn't think he is, except he definitely just did that.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	feels like flying

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to elizabeth for looking this over and letting me whine about endings and dumb boys!

When Nate grabs the hem of Jo's t-shirt and crushes their mouths together, it's the first time he's ever kissed a boy, not that he realizes that until later. It's not even much of a kiss, just a messy press of mouths that barely lingers past platonic. If Nate were the sort of boy who kissed his friends platonically.

He doesn't think he is, except he definitely just did that. 

The moment passes quickly, and Jo is smiling giddy up at him. He doesn't say anything, or kiss Nate, or anything that Nate was almost expecting in a tiny piece of his heart, because that's how it happens in movies. Instead, he curls an arm around Nate's shoulders and drags him into a hug. 

They’re not exactly alone, standing in the darkest corner of a room where someone’s bound to come looking for them sooner rather than later, but Nate buries his face in Jo’s shoulder and doesn’t think about it. Not the combine, not the draft, not next year, not anything of the giant series of questions that comes after this moment. 

Jo smells like cheap locker room soap and champagne and the just-unwrapped newness of the cap he’s still wearing. His face is tucked into Nate’s shoulder as well, his breath warm against the skin there. There’s no immediate reason to move; eventually they’ll need to reintegrate with the crowd but if no one has questioned their moments together for the last two years, they probably won’t start now. 

Eventually, Jo extricates himself and then—of course, because Nate isn’t expecting it anymore—raises himself up just enough to kiss him again. It’s warmer, lingering in a way the first one didn’t, and Jo isn’t pulling away. 

It’s easy to kiss him back, to open his mouth just slightly against Jo’s and let Jo push into it. 

“We did it!” Jo says when he pulls back. Nate can see the red of his lips even in the dim light. He smiles, because there’s nothing else to say, and lets himself be dragged back into the press of the party. 

It’s hours later when they finally leave, Jo’s arm wound around Nate’s waist as they drag themselves down the hall to their room. The adrenaline has worn off, and Nate can feel his eyes closing against his will. His head tips forward against his chest, and Jo jostles against him hard. 

“I can’t carry you if you fall asleep,” he says, his voice syrupy and his accent coming in thicker than usual. 

“Work on your conditioning,” Nate mumbles, probably not even loud enough for Jo to hear. And then they’re back at their room and he’s faceplanting on the closer bed. 

“That’s my bed, asshole,” Jo says without any heat. The bed shakes shakes and sinks, and when Nate cracks his eyes, Jo is lying next to him. “Get off,” he says, pushing weakly at Nate. Nate doesn’t make any effort to move, and Jo doesn’t try again. 

\--

It feels like it’s been 20 minutes when the sunlight streaming into the room forces Nate to open his eyes. It may actually only have been 20 minutes, they were up late and they’re really far north. He reaches for the other pillow, but instead of cotton he gets a handful of skin and hair and—right, that would be Jo. Nate makes an unhappy noise and rolls over, burying his face against Jo’s arm to block the light out. 

\--

Everything is too warm when Nate wakes up for real. He squirms, but it doesn’t have any effect except provoking a series of grumpy noises from above his head. 

“Arrête, je dors,” Jo says, batting weakly at Nate’s side. His arm has ended up draped around Nate’s waist, holding Nate against him, which explains everything being too warm, but he’s not moving. 

“‘m hot,” Nate grumbles. Jo either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care or is already asleep again, because he doesn’t react at all. Nate forces his eyes open just enough to pry himself loose and stumble to the other—gloriously cool—bed. He doesn’t fall asleep again, but he pulls the extra pillow over his head and pretends for a while. 

\--

The few extra minutes of dozing don’t feel like much at the time, but by the end of the month, when Nate’s been essentially run ragged, he’s wishing himself back in that bed. Or maybe back in the other one, Jo’s arm across his back holding him in place. There’s been a few days off since they won the Mem Cup, between the interviews and the tests and the trips, not that it was relaxing to have time to spend in his own head, trying to keep from wondering about next year because there’s nothing he can do to change it now. 

\--

Jo is going to bounce out of his skin. He’s practically vibrating next to Nate, their hands brushing every time he fidgets. Nate’s sure he’s saying something, can hear the familiar timbre of his voice, but he’s trying to regulate his breathing and ground himself. They’re _really_ high up, wind whistling around them, and every time Jo’s hand brushes his, Nate wants to grab it and use it to steady them both. Maybe he can pick up some of Jo’s excitement through his skin, use it to fight the shaky nausea. 

He takes a deep breath and forces a smile for the cameras, makes eye contact and answers questions. If he can strap blades to his feet and throw himself around on a sheet of ice, he can do this, too. 

\--

Seth’s asleep in the other bed; Nate can hear him breathing but doesn’t know if he’s faking or is genuinely able to sleep right now. In his own room, Jo is probably wide awake, trying to keep himself from bouncing off the walls, and if he can’t sleep, Nate wishes he could at least have someone else to talk to. He’s more jittery than excited; Sakic’s been saying it’ll be him but Nate can’t make himself believe it. 

It’s weird to miss Jo when they’re in the same hotel, but he does. Colorado is a long way from Florida, and even if they do both end up in Florida, it won’t be anything like centering Jo’s perfect passes and driving him to school and staying out too late eating sushi. He tells himself he’s being ridiculous, actually mouths the words, but it still feels like someone’s got a vise grip on his heart. 

He doesn’t sleep well the entire night, and when he wakes up to his alarm, it feels like he barely got any rest. Luckily, there’s coffee for that and adrenaline for what the coffee won’t cure.

\--

The second time Jo kisses him, they’re wearing their new jerseys, clashing blues and different logos. The reporters around them have finally dissipated, and no one’s asked Nate how anything feels for probably a whole thirty minutes. And then, out of nowhere, Jo presses him against the wall of the empty room they’re in and kisses him hard. 

Nate pushes forward, pushes into it, lets Jo kiss him until his lips are sore and he’s worried their parents will find them, and keeps going after that. It’s—he ought to stop, probably, because anyone could come in, and because he doesn’t _do_ this, not the way Jo does, but he can’t do it, can’t tear his mouth away from Jo’s. Jo’s teeth graze his lip, and Nate makes an involuntary noise, pulls Jo closer against him. 

At some point, his arm ended up tight around Jo’s waist. He doesn’t actually remember doing that. 

It’s not until he’s pressing a sucking kiss to the skin by Jo’s ear that Nate realizes he was wondering what it tasted like—salt and skin and what must be the tang of cologne. He huffs a laugh against Jo’s neck and Jo tilts his head, makes room for Nate to kiss there instead. 

He does, because it’s easy to not think right now, and now it’s Jo making a tiny noise. Nate wants to hear it again, maybe wants to hear it always. His back is still against the wall, and Jo is squirming up against him, and Jo’s hand is tight against the back of his neck. Everything is kind of overwhelming, touch and smell and the heart of Jo’s body against his. 

Nate doesn’t kiss his friends for fun, he _doesn’t_ , even the guys who do that don’t kiss him for fun, but he doesn’t think this is what it’s like. This is heady and searing and it doesn’t feel fun. It feels like it’s leading to something, like Jo’s lips on his neck are leaving marks even though he knows they aren’t. 

He’s wearing dress pants. Jo is too. They’re wearing suit pants and they need to go out with their parents and there are probably ten thousand cameras and _fuck_ but Nate just wants to keep kissing Jo, pulling him closer and rubbing off against him. He opens his mouth to say something, but what comes out is a shuddering gasp when Jo sucks hard on the skin of his neck. That’s going to leave an actual mark, maybe not right away but it’ll be a bruise by tomorrow. 

“Jo,” he says, half pleading and half serious. Nate doesn’t think he could say which one he was aiming for if you asked him, but it doesn’t matter because Jo gets it, Jo always gets it. He drops a quick kiss on the corner of Nate’s mouth and takes a step back. His lips are bright red and he looks—he looks well kissed, and something in Nate’s stomach clenches. He keeps his eyes fixed on Jo’s face, because doesn’t know what he’ll see if he lets them drift lower. 

“Yeah,” Jo says, weirdly terse. Nate expects him to babble and he doesn’t, like kissing Nate calmed him down. It did the opposite for him, leaving him jittery and on-edge; he wants to kiss Jo again and he wants to run until the buzzing under his skin is gone. Jo’s smile is unusually hesitant. 

“I need to go,” Nate says, and then he bolts. 

\--

Nate doesn’t bring up the kissing, mostly because he’s waiting to see what Jo does. It turns out that what Jo does is also not bringing up the kissing, and as a result they talk about a lot of other things, but definitely not how Nate knows what Jo’s skin tastes like. They talk about hockey and training and their friends and the people their friends like that they can’t stand at all. They do it all over the phone—with a handful of actual skype conversations thrown in—but otherwise it’s not all that different from being in Halifax together. 

He tells himself that he isn’t allowed to miss Jo, that he needs to get used to this because this is how it’s going to be. 

It sort of works.

\--

Or, at least, Nate thinks it might be working, until Jo steps into their room at world juniors camp and Nate is just—on him. Pulling him into a crushing hug and tucking his head into the curve of Jo’s shoulder even though their heights are all wrong for it. Jo sinks into it, pulls Nate in closer and directs them toward the bed until they’re sprawled out next to each other. Their legs are tangled and now it’s Jo’s face pressed into Nate’s shoulder. 

“I missed you,” he says. 

Nate hums, tucks himself closer against Jo. He did too, but he wasn’t supposed to. “Have to get used to it,” he says, mouth twisting a little. It sounds meaner than he meant it to, sounds like he’s not as scared about the idea of not having Jo around as he is about everything else that’s going to happen. There’s no words for this, so Nate presses a kiss to Jo’s temple. 

Jo makes a tiny noise that sounds almost broken and pulls away just enough to meet Nate’s eyes. His “I don’t want to” sounds petulant and clingy and Nate understands _so much_. 

He kisses Jo, quick and hard, and when he pulls back, Jo’s eyes are closed. Jo whispers something Nate doesn’t understand, can barely hear, and he just watches his lips move. When he meets Jo’s eyes, they’re steady but unreadable. His hand clenches where it’s resting on Nate’s hip. 

There’s no outside factor here, no rush of adrenaline or exhilarating success to blame for doing something reckless. The terrifying, thrilling rush is just from seeing Jo. Jo, who’s scary calm pressed against him on the bed. He should be fidgeting or babbling or dragging Nate off the bed to go _do_ something, Nate, we can’t just lie here all day. Instead, he’s biting his lip and it looks like every muscle in his body is tense. 

Nate reaches up and thumbs at his lower lip until it comes loose, drags the pad of his thumb over the tooth marks left there. 

And then he’s being pressed back into the mattress and kissed thoroughly. Jo’s lips sealed against his, tongues moving unpracticed. Their teeth clack and it almost hurts but Nate isn’t going to stop, not for that. When Jo starts to pull away, Nate pushes up, tries to follow him, but Jo’s hand on his shoulder is steady. 

“What are we doing?” Jo says.

Nate bites his lip and shrugs. “Kissing?”

Jo smiles. “Why?”

It ought to sound like an interrogation but, somehow, Jo makes it sound like he’s genuinely curious, and that makes it basically impossible for Nate to respond with anything but the truth. 

“I like kissing you,” he says, too earnest. 

“Yeah?” Jo’s smile is tiniest bit smug, and he squirms a little while he’s blatantly pressing Nate for more information. 

Nate remembers standing on top of the Empire State Building, forcing himself to keep from looking down, and takes a deep breath. If he could do that, he can do this. “I like kissing you because I _like you_ ,” he says. 

“I like you too, “ Jo says, his smile full of teeth but genuine, the way he smiles at Nate when they score. 

It feels a bit like scoring, like having one of Jo’s passes land right on his tape and tapping it past the goalie, to have Jo lean back down and kiss him again. It’s more like the first time they kissed, gentler and less heated than they were earlier. Still, Jo’s lips are red when he pulls back and Nate stares for a moment. 

“We’ll just have to skype a lot.” Jo’s voice is steady, steadier than Nate thinks he could make his right now. He makes it sound doable, though, for them to not drift apart. “It’s not like people stop being friends the moment they’re not on the same team anymore.” 

Nate nods. “Are we—” he starts, steeling himself for Jo to say “of course, what else would we be?” in the tone he uses when he thinks Nate’s being obtuse. 

“If you want,” Jo says, and then seems to lose all the composure he’s been holding onto all at once. “It would be nice, I think, and I think it could be good, even if we’re going to be so far apart, because you’re—you’re different, I don’t know anyone else like you—”

Nate kisses him, because once he gets started babbling there’s no stopping him. After a long moment of slow kissing, Jo’s calmed against him and Nate pulls away for a moment.

“I definitely want,” he says, and then Jo’s kissing him again.


End file.
